Where the Truth Lies
by Anne Phoenix
Summary: The truth is not necessarily black and white. Alex needs to grow up a bit, and he needs to start making his own decisions about what is right and what is wrong. Unfortunately, Alex always attracts more than his fair share of trouble.
1. During Eagle Strike

Title: Where the Truth Lies

Author: Anne Phoenix

Rating: R for violence. There are no sexual situations in this fic.

Disclaimer: The characters represented in this story do not belong to me. This story is written for entertainment and non-profit purposes only.

The events of "Where the Truth Lies" start during "Eagle Strike" … The canon material remains untouched, however this prologue aims to fill in some emotional blanks and provide information about what was happening behind our (and Alex's) backs during the stories. All is not as it seems.

** o o o **

** DURING EAGLE STRIKE **

** o o o **

"He's alive!" a paramedic called out as he it touched his fingers to the young boy's neck. The paramedic did not know the boy, but his voice was laced with relief - nobody liked a dead child. The boy looked so very young and out of place on the devastated aircraft. It made no sense for him to be here, in the middle of this emergency.

The boy was slumped against an older man. Blood and grime matted his blond hair, making it stick to his face and obscure his eyes. Blood smudged his skin, but did not conceal the pattern of purple bruises along the side of his face – he'd clearly been severely beaten.

The other man, too, was covered in blood; so much that it was hard to see where it had come from. It seemed to ooze through his clothes like a never-ending crimson stain. Swiftly, the paramedic's skilled fingers found what they were looking for – faint and irregular, but definitely a pulse.

"This one's alive, too!" he shouted to his colleagues. The other paramedics had been checking the other occupants of the plane, but they now turned their attention to the strange pair slumped against the wall. A smear of blood on the floor indicated that the boy had dragged himself toward the man, and even in unconsciousness their fingers were entwined as if they'd been holding onto each other to face some terrible fate. Maybe a security guard and his son, a paramedic speculated out loud as they lifted the two unconscious forms onto separate gurneys.

The paramedics worked swiftly, checking over both boy and man with practised efficiency. Once the priority of the man's bullet wound had been identified, the young boy and his superficial injuries were all but forgotten. It wasn't long before he was lifted from the aircraft, and then an ambulance whisked him away.

** o o o **

"Gregorovich will be moved to our high security detention unit right here in London," Alan Blunt decided when he received the news of the man's survival. It had been a utilitarian decision to operate to remove the bullet inside Yassen Gregorovich: the killer was highly rated by Scorpia and might have important information about upcoming operations.

"We should have let him die. It was a perfect opportunity," Tulip Jones replied. But Blunt had already made up his mind. "We can always execute him later on. But he might still prove to be useful. No one knows he's alive."

Jones frowned, but accepted her superior's decision, even if she didn't agree with it. It wasn't so much that she wanted Gregorovich dead, but more that she wanted to not have to worry about him again. As long as the killer was alive, Jones knew there was a part of her that would not sleep easily. "Alex must never find out," she said sternly. "He says they didn't talk before Gregorovich _died_, but I'm not sure he's telling the truth. He seems different somehow."

"Of course he's different. He just saved the world from nuclear destruction. He's bound to be feeling a bit different!"

Jones shook her head at her superior's oblivion. Alan Blunt was a very clever man, but sometimes he seemed to completely miss the obvious. And to her it was obvious that something inside Alex had changed. The boy seemed constantly lost in his thoughts, and his gaze had become more calculating. Somehow, Tulip Jones didn't think Alex was thinking about girls.

Jones sighed deeply. "OK, Alan, I'll arrange for Gregorovich to be brought here tomorrow night under the cover of darkness. No one must know that he is still alive. We can't risk Scorpia coming for him."

** o o o **

_To be continued …_


	2. During Scorpia

**Thanks for your reviews! Sorry these opening chapters are a bit short, but it's all about setting a clear scene in terms of characters & events. Things will pick up pace very soon.**

**Lily – Thanks for commenting! Hope this update was quick enough for you.**

**Nyxelestia – I hope so. There are big plans for this fic!**

**Emmy-loo – Thanks. I have such a clear picture of what should have happened on that plane. I'm so glad I was able to share that image!**

**Zoeyua – YG will be a main character for this fic, so that should make you happy!**

**Buchworm13 – So glad you liked the start! Hopefully I can keep it up :).**

**XxXmaximuM-RideRXxX – Yup yup yup, you're on the right track!**

**Dragon Rider of Alagaesia – I can promise Yassen will be no sap. A little less superficial and more human, but hopefully still very much in character.**

** o o o **

** o o o **

** DURING SCORPIA **

** o o o **

"Don't be too rough with him!" Mrs Jones pleaded with the special agents dragging Alex away. The commanding officer gave her a strange look, as if to remind her that this boy had just tried to murder her in cold blood; but it was as though Mrs Jones had already forgotten about that little detail.

What Tulip Jones remembered was the accusatory tone of Alex's voice as he demanded to know the truth about his father. She remembered the pain and betrayal flashing in Alex's eyes before he pulled the trigger … and then the confusion and the hurt as he realised what had done and was manhandled to the floor.

Alex hadn't even tried to resist his arrest – it was like he'd already given up. Mrs Jones wasn't used to seeing that side of her young agent.

She couldn't help how she felt about him, regardless of how dangerous he was turning out to be. Alex was only a child – too young to kill, and too young to die.

** o o o **

_You're never too young to die. _

Yassen Gregorovich had learnt this lesson from an early age. He'd nearly died several times before making it to adulthood. His childhood had not been pleasant to start of with, and had then become progressively worse after the death of his parents. Until he'd found Scorpia. Or rather, until Scorpia had found him, taken him in, become his new home and family.

But life didn't become safer. Yassen had almost died on his first mission for Scorpia, only this time someone had stepped in to save him. John Rider. It was the first time anyone had taken the burden of survival away from Yassen, and he had never forgotten it.

He still missed John …

The small cell where Yassen was now being kept alone with his thoughts was deep underground beneath the Royal and General bank building. No sound or light came in or out, and the halogen ceiling lamp provided only an irritating glow that gave the whitewashed walls a pale yellow tinge.

Yassen knew that MI6 could keep him here for as long as they wanted, even forever. They could also kill him, as they had killed John. Yassen stretched, wincing a little at the pain in his abdomen. The bullet had ripped through his intestines, but the surgeons had performed their magic and patched him up, good as new. The wound would hurt for a long time, but for Yassen it was just another reminder that he had, once again, survived the impossible.

Suddenly the metal door slid open with a grating screech. The usual guards were visible in the corridor, standing aside to allow a single dark-haired man to enter. The door closed behind him, sealing the man into Yassen's cell. Yassen recognised him as a senior agent in Strategic Operations, a long term internal security agent.

The agent cut straight to the quick: "Did you talk with Alex Rider on Air Force One?"

Yassen eyed the man suspiciously, but did not answer. He had been expecting to be interrogated about Scorpia operations and Malagosto, not about Alex Rider!

The agent continued. "What did you tell Alex Rider? How much did you tell him?"

Ah. So something must have happened. Something big, by the sounds of it.

Yassen smiled. "I told him only the truth." His words had a very slight Russian tinge.

The agent glared at him before turning to leave. It seemed as though Yassen Gregorovich had just confirmed MI6's worst fears.

Acting quickly, MI6 managed to convince Alex that Scorpia had told him only lies, that Yassen had sent him there to die … for revenge on Alex's double-crossing father. MI6 fixed Alex's body with medical care, and they fixed his young malleable mind with a new version of the truth.

And then they gave him a prep talk and sent him back to Julia Rothman to make up for his betrayal and save the country once again.

But Scorpia never forgives, never forgets, and only a few days later the Strategic Operations agents returned to Yassen Gregorovich's cell to inform him that Alex Rider was dead, gunned down in cold blood by a Scorpia sniper right outside the secret service headquarters.

"Well done," the agent said scathingly, "You sent him to them. You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself."

It was inevitable, Yassen supposed, but he refused to accept any blame for the boy's death. The fault lay with MI6 for using Alex in the first place, not with Yassen. He and the boy should never have met; they belonged to different worlds.

More than ever, Yassen missed John, who _did_ belong in the same world as Yassen. And that night Yassen felt sad for the first time in years. He dreamt of Alex dying, his lips parted in a silent scream as his eyes begged with Yassen to save him. He dreamt of spiders and guns and aircrafts …

The next morning, Yassen Gregorovich stopped feeling sorry for himself. Pulling his emotions together, Yassen started paying more attention to his surroundings and routine. After all, he wasn't going to stay in a MI6 prison forever, was he?

** o o o **

_To be continued …_


	3. During Ark Angel

**Thanks for your reviews – I'm taking all your comments and suggestions on board, so keep 'em coming! Chapters will be more frequent during weekends, but I'll try to update as regularly as possible. Xxx Anne Phoenix**

** o o o **

** o o o **

** DURING ARK ANGEL **

** o o o **

Things had moved so quickly after Alex's surgery. His first memory was waking up in the hospital, heart hammering with terror and sweat coating his skin. His first thought was that he had to be dead. Then he wondered why he had to be dead. He remembered only leaving the Royal and General, bright lights, screams … nothing else …

Luckily, Mrs Jones turned up to explain what had happened – a teenager, targeted by a professional hitman, right outside MI6. Mrs Jones seemed to feel sorry for Alex, but apparently not sorry enough to prevent Alan Blunt from setting him up once again, and seeing him off on another mission.

One good thing about the speed of everything was that Alex never had time to stop and feel sorry for himself. He was too busy trying to survive to let the reality of his situation get to him. Between all the madness, there were a few blissful days in which Alex and Paul were able to be just teenagers, enjoying the sea and the surf without the weight of the world resting on their shoulders. But in reality, both boys were far from normal and the darker sides of their lives quickly caught up with them.

Alex wished things could have gone differently with Paul. Maybe one day they would meet again in better circumstances, although no doubt Paul would blame Alex for his father's death. Alex wished many things could have gone differently. He'd rather not have had the experience of Kaspar's grotesque death in Ark Angel – some night Alex could barely sleep for the memory of Kaspar's blood floating around the space station. He'd rather not have had to go into space at all, in fact; especially as he would no doubt be left out of the history books as the first teenager to go into space, to walk on a space station … the first murder in space, the first bomb, the first …

Alex shook his head. He'd made it back, hadn't he? He was OK. He didn't need any pity – not his own and not anyone else's. And anyway, he could already hear the choppers coming to pick him up and get him out of this claustrophobic pod.

Time to look brave again …

** o o o **

They didn't allow access to the news in high security isolation. No televisions, no radios, no newspapers, no gossip …

If he'd had access to the news, Yassen would have known about the explosion of the Ark Angel space station. Of course, he still wouldn't have known anything about Alex's involvement. As it was, the days melded into nights into days into nights. The light in the cell was always the same, and when Yassen closed his eyes he could still see the halogen strip etched in the insides of his eyelids. The faint smell of disinfectant from the chemical toilet was also always the same, the metal grinding of the door was the same, the two uniformed guards were the same, and the Strategic Operations agent in charge of security was the same …

As much as the monotony grated on Yassen's nerves, he also knew that routine invariably resulted in weakness. It was just a question of patience.

And patience is always a virtue.

"Brought your grub," the uniformed guard said as he pushed the metal tray through a flap in the door. Like everything else here, the meals were grey and monotonous – some kind of mash – but Yassen's plate was always returned spotlessly clean. And not a crumb of his daily bread roll ever remained.

Today Yassen didn't respond to the guard. He stayed where he was and didn't even twitch.

"Oi, you Russian bastard!"

Yassen didn't rise to the insult. He just turned on his side were he lay on the floor and vomited, groaning and drawing his legs up to his belly.

The guard cursed and fumbled for his key card. Like all other access points in the building, both a key card and an authorised fingerprint were required to open the door, which slid open with its usual deafening screech.

"What's wrong with you?" the guard demanded. He tried to come across as tough, but sounded nervous. After all, he wasn't a medic and Yassen Gregorovich looked pretty ill: the Russian's face was pale and glistening with sweat.

"Why didn't you call for help? Oh man, can you sit u-"

The guard's words were cut short as Yassen suddenly sprang, cat-like, from the floor. The guard had no time to react before he found his mouth stuffed with a bread roll and taped shut with the surgical tape from Yassen's chest wound. His arms and legs were swiftly bund with the sheet from Yassen's bed.

Without looking into the young guard's terrified eyes, Yassen flipped him onto his belly, weighting him down until he tired of struggling. Then Yassen took the screw he'd removed from the back of the toilet – the one he'd been carefully, silently sharpening for over a week now, chiselling its point into a deadly weapon – and swiped downward.

The sharpened nail cut easily through the flesh and tendons and ligament that formed the second knuckle of the guard's right index finger – there was no bone to cut and the finger came away easily. The guard's muffled screams would have been heartwrenching to any normal human, but Yassen was not a normal human. He was one of the best assassins in the world. The guard was luckily to be alive.

Silently, Yassen removed the key card from the reader on the wall outside his cell. The cell shut behind him, effectively cutting off all sound from inside. Yassen knew it would be twenty minutes until the other guard returned from lunch. The Strategic Operations agent was not due until the next morning. It was the same routine every Friday, as the Special Operations agent was at another building on that day, and that day only. Routine equalled weakness.

Using the card and the fingertip, Yassen unhurriedly made his way out of the building, always making sure the path ahead was clear before moving into the next section. Sealing every door behind him, Yassen then carefully poured the grey mash he'd been served every day into the card readers, making sure the sticky food was smashed into the electronics so that the doors could no longer be opened behind him.

By the time MI6 figured out what was wrong with their security system and called up the CCTV logs, Yassen Gregorovich was long gone. The guard's white finger tip was found in the gutter outside one of the side entrance's to the building. It had served its purpose.

For Yassen, it had been child's play to escape, proof once again of MI6's misplaced arrogance …

** o o o **

_To be continued …_


	4. During Snakehead

**Thanks for your lovely reviews – keep them coming. They make me happy!**

** o o o **

** DURING SNAKEHEAD **

** o o o **

"He almost didn't make it this time," Mrs Jones warned her superior. "He's getting tired and sloppy. He's also getting emotionally detached. We should have warned him about Anthony."

Alan Blunt's expression was non committal. "Rider did a good job."

"Is that all you can say?" Mrs Jones complained. "What about his school work? He's falling behind in all of his lessons and not connecting with the other kids. He's been badly hurt, Alan, physically and emotionally. I'm worried he might crack."

Blunt's expression, however, did not change. "He's a strong lad. He'll be fine."

Mrs Jones sighed. Alan Blunt seemed to think Alex Rider was invincible, but Mrs Jones knew this was far from true. On the contrary, Alex seemed to be getting more and more withdrawn.

Emotionally, he was drained – Mrs Jones knew they'd been wrong not to tell him about his godfather. Alex was a teenager, and an orphan too; he was not yet equipped to cope singlehandedly with the psychological burdens thrust upon him during each mission.

Physically, Alex hadn't even recovered from his bullet wound, let alone from his latest injuries. Exhaustion was showing in his every move – he looked stiff and uncoordinated. He carried bruises that were taking much too long to heal. After Alex was shot, his surgeon had warned of anaemia, and unfortunately it now looked though the surgeon was right.

Overall, Mrs Jones was very worried about Alex Rider.

"What will happen to Alex if he loses it?" Mrs Jones wanted to know.

Alan Blunt said nothing. He looked down at his hands as though they would yield some fascinating response. Then he shrugged. "Let's worry about that when it happens. In the meantime, we have other things to worry about. That bloody Gregorovich still hasn't been caught. He's slipping away from us. We cannot let him get back to Scorpia."

"We can assign more men to the hunt."

Blunt frowned. "I think we need to assign more _committed_ men, if you see what I mean."

"You mean you want to kill him?"

"Only if he doesn't come quietly …"

Mrs Jones nodded her understanding. Sometimes there just wasn't a choice. Which was exactly what made her so nervous about the Alex Rider situation. She couldn't ignore the anxiety gnawing at her belly and asked: "Do you think Gregorovich will try to find Alex?"

Blunt shook his head. "He thinks the boy is dead."

It still worried Mrs Jones. Yassen Gregorovich was the one person who could ruin everything for MI6. If the Russian killer managed to get his hands on Alex, there was no accounting for what would happen.

"Don't you think we should at least foresee the possibility that he will try to find Alex?"

Blunt frowned. "Why would Gregorovich want to find Alex?"

Mrs Jones knew she was dismissed by the tone of Alan's voice. There was no point in arguing. It wasn't her call. But deep down, she knew Alan Blunt was wrong, and she thought they were making a huge mistake.

** o o o **

Yassen was blissfully unaware of Mrs Jones and Alan Blunt's discussion about him. He was not, however, unaware that MI6 agents were scouring the nation for him.

Upon his escape, Yassen had immediately disappeared into the busy mill of London's public transport system. Using a stolen Oyster card, he had taken the Circle Line to Victoria Station, and from there a train down to Brighton. In Brighton, it was easy for Yassen to make a reverse charged call to a trusted notary to organise perfectly legal credit card with which he then booked himself into a busy hotel, becoming just another of many unfamiliar foreign faces. He knew he needed to lay low for a while.

London CCTV had lost him after he got on the tube – hundreds of agents were working on the logged tapes, checking every single station along the Circle Line to find Yassen's exit from the tube, but it was a hopeless task. Thousands, maybe millions, of blurry faces walked past the cameras every day …

And so Yassen was able to settle into his hotel room and put up his feet while waiting for the notary to make the necessary phone calls that would connect up the assassin with the people who could make him disappear.

Finally, four luxurious days after his escape, there came a knock on Yassen's hotel room door.

"Mr Semple, I have a special delivery for you."

Yassen jumped to his feet, senses alert. "Do you know what's inside?" he asked through the door, remembering the code easily.

"Scorpions …"

Yassen opened the door and let the Scorpia man inside. They did not exchange a word as the man opened his briefcase and removed a manila envelope for Yassen. It contained a passport, a driving licence – both in the name of Michael Semple – and three thousand pounds in cash.

Yassen pocketed the items, and then finally addressed the Scorpia man. "You must tell me what happened after I was captured. I sent Alex Rider to Scorpia."

The man scowled. "There were some problems with the boy. He was not willing to kill; he was not willing to learn properly. We wanted to keep him at Malagosto for a few months, maybe years, to work on him. But Julia lost her mind – she blamed the boy for his father's transgressions and made him part of the Invisible Sword project. He escaped and she died, so our superiors decided to eliminate the boy. He knew too much. He was too volatile."

Yassen held his breath as the man spoke. Then he exhaled slowly. "So he is dead."

"What? No, the boy has the luck of the Devil. He survived a bullet in the chest – should have pierced his heart. Frankly, there's no reason for us to go after him again. He's only a kid. I think he'll have learnt his lesson about messing with Scorpia."

Alive … Alex was alive.

Yassen could hardly believe his ears. Outwardly, however, he showed no emotion. He would find Alex and finish what he had started on Air Force One.

** o o o **

_To be continued …_


	5. Another Change

**So here we are … the story is finally getting started. I hope you've enjoyed the introductory chapters. Thanks for all the lovely reviews – some of your comments have been very useful in helping me shape this story in my mind. Although the plot itself is already clear in my mind, the details are much more flexible. So please let me know what you like and dislike … let's kick on!**

** o o o **

** o o o **

** ANOTHER CHANGE **

** o o o **

With the millions of people crossing the Victoria Station concourse every, it took two full weeks for a clear CCTV image of Yassen Gregorovich to be confirmed. The camera caught him coming out of the underground station and heading right towards the ticket office. Then Yassen disappeared into the crowds once more. For Mrs Jones, it was like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders – her greatest fear had been that Yassen had taken the Circle Line into Kensington, which was much too close to Alex's house for comfort.

"At least we can now be sure he's left London," she said, as Alan Blunt stared at the CCTV image of the Scorpia operative.

"Probably," he agreed shortly.

"How should we proceed with the manhunt? It could take us weeks to find Gregorovich. Maybe even months. Shall we reduce our men in London? We also need to consider the possibility that he might have slipped across a border. That man is a chameleon."

Alan Blunt didn't seem to be listening to Mrs Jones. He had put down the pixelated image of Yassen and was now examining a printed document.

"Alan? Are you even hearing me?"

Blunt finally looked up. He looked surprised to see Mrs Jones staring down at him. "Tell me … are you still worried about the Rider thing?"

"Alan, I haven't stopped talking about it. You know I won't rest easy until Gregorovich is either captured or killed."

"Hmmmm. Maybe you're right. How about we send Alex _away_ for a while?"

Mrs Jones studied Blunt's face carefully. As usual, the man gave nothing away. His eyes had gone back to the paper in his hand.

"Ok Alan, tell me why you've suddenly changed your mind about this?"

Blunt waved his paper toward Mrs Jones. "I have just been sent some interesting information concerning our most notorious arms dealer. We've been given an exclusive opportunity to gather some information. Alex would be just the man_- boy –_ for the job."

Mrs Jones started to protest. Emotionally, she wanted Alex to have a break from spying, to let him be a normal boy while he recovered from the Snakehead mission. But a more selfish part of her wanted Alex far far away from London and Scorpia, and so she bit her tongue.

"Will it be dangerous?" she asked.

Blunt dismissed her concern. "Oh no, quite safe, as always …"

** o o o **

Blissfully removed from secret plots and conspiracies, life at Brookland school had been going on as normal. Alex knew he should take advantage of every minute at school. After all, it would only be a matter of time until MI6 yanked him away again with some pathetic excuse about needing him to save the world. With the help of a private tutor, Alex was finally catching up his missed lessons. His teachers were impressed at his progress and encouraged him as best they could. Everything seemed to have settled back into its old routine and was going well.

Or at least, outwardly it looked as if things were going well. Inside Alex was fighting a never-ending battle against oppressing mental and physical tiredness.

Even if it felt like a lifetime ago, it had only been a few weeks since Alex had been shot and almost killed. The repercussions of his injury were far from over. While gallivanting around South East Asia on his last mission, Alex had been running on pure adrenalin – fear, urgency and more immediate physical afflictions has masked the longer term effects of the bullet wound. But now things were different, and while settling back into his normal school routine, Alex was beginning to understand just how long it would take for a full recovery. The constant feeling of weakness left Alex feeling ill tempered and snappy.

"What's wrong?" Tom kept asking, becoming increasingly offended when Alex refused to answer. But what was Alex to say? Tom would never understand that Alex felt bone tired and emotionally exhausted. Tom still thought being a spy was glamorous and exciting. He wouldn't be able to understand Alex's constant fear of everything being ripped away once more.

With every passing day, Alex's anxiety amplified; he expected to find MI6 waiting for him behind every corner, and his sleep became even more disturbed than before.

Jack was better placed to understand what was going on in Alex's life. She was old enough to understand that her ward's nightmares and poor appetite were a manifestation of post-traumatic stress.

Like Alex, Jack also knew that it was only a matter of time before MI6 turned up again. They wouldn't care that Alex was tired and under weight. They wouldn't stop to ask for his opinion. They would just take him and use him, like they always did. Helpless and angry, Jack looked after Alex as well as she could until that day came.

** o o o **

It was storming outside when the knock came on the door. The first knocks must have been masked by rolls of thunder, as by the time Jack had got out of bed, pulled on her gown and come down to open the door John Crawley was already drenched. Jack was tempted to slam the door straight away, but it would only have delayed the inevitable.

"Leave him alone," she snapped, not giving Crawley the time to say anything, nor offering him to step in from the storm.

Crawley wiped the rain from his face. "We have a bit of a situation," he said. "Someone is looking for Alex. An assassin. Alex needs to come with me right now. We're taking him into protective custody."

Jack felt the blood drain from her face. "You have got to be kidding me. Why would anyone want to kill Alex?"

Crawley frowned. "There's an organisation Alex humiliated. They tried to kill him once already, but they failed. They're not going to give up easily."

Crawley lied with a straight face, not showing any other emotion than what looked like concern for Alex's safety. Jack was not fooled. "Can't you people leave him alone?"

"I'm afraid it's out of my hands, Miss Starbright. It's really vital we get Alex to safety quickly."

"Where will you be taking him?"

Crawley looked down. "Somewhere safe," he muttered.

Jack knew she was beat. Angrily, she stepped back and finally let the MI6 man into the house. He stood in the corridor, dripping, while Jack went upstairs to wake up Alex and share the bad news.

** o o o **

_Protective custody_ turned out to be Eldemere secure facility for criminally dangerous boys. Alan Blunt briefed Alex about the facility, which was little more than a prison for Britain's most dangerous young repeat offenders.

"You'll be quite safe, from the … euh … assassin. He'll never find you there, and of course you'll be under cover. Quite safe. And while you're there, maybe you could … euh … do us a little favour?"

Alex sighed. He'd known right from the start that this was coming. He wondered if there was any assassin at all, or if that had merely been a lie to make him come quietly.

The "favour" was to spy on another inmate at the facility. The boy was the son of an international arms dealer. MI6 needed to extract some information from the boy, preferably without him ever realising he was being interrogated. As always, Alex was absolutely perfect for the job.

Blunt watched Alex carefully during the briefing. Alex had lost a lot of weight in recent weeks, but he still looked healthy enough. If anything, the wiry slenderness fit the image of the young ruffian Blunt wanted Alex to impersonate. As far as Blunt was concerned, it was all falling into place, and both he and Mrs Jones were getting what they wanted. The undercover mission would keep Alex off the streets until Yassen Gregorovich was located and eliminated. The plan was absolutely foolproof.

** o o o **

_To be continued …_


	6. Settling In

**Wow, I'm really flattered by all the reviews – I have great plans for this fic, and will try to keep up with weekly updates or as near as poss! The encouragement always helps; keep it coming! (re-uploaded to remove the swearing, as per TOS – whoops) … **

**== o == o == o ==**

**== SETTLING IN ==**

**== o == o == o ==**

Eldemere secure facility for criminally dangerous boys was a typical young offenders institute – red bricks and grey concrete defined the building, but around it lay various well-used sports fields. At Eldemere, teenagers served relatively short sentences for minor offences, such as petty vandalism or drug-related crimes, before being returned to their local authority for parole and reintegration. Alex was given a four month sentence for a drug charge; four months would give both MI6 and Alex the time necessary to do their respective jobs.

Alex did not need to act as he was led through the facility: he genuinely felt a little scared at the idea of being in prison. "Your cell," was all the guard said, as he pushed into a room. A heavy metal door clanked shut behind him, leaving Alex locked in a small whitewashed room with a low bunk pushed against either wall. An arched passageway revealed a stainless steel toilet and shower cubicle.

But Alex didn't spend too long surveying his surroundings, for the target of his mission was right here in front of him. As always, MI6 had organised everything perfectly. Bertie Bastillo, or BB as he liked to be known, looked much older than 16. He towered over Alex, brawny, thick necked and very confident.

"Who are you?" BB demanded. His fists clenched as if sporting for a fight.

"Alex. Alex Riede," said Alex in a small voice. BB frowned at him, then pointed toward the left bunk: "That's yours. The other bunk is mine. The desk is also mine. You wanna do anything round here, you ask me first."

Alex nodded as meekly as he could and put his bag down on his bunk. BB watched his every move with barely concealed disdain. "So what you in for?"

"Drugs," Alex muttered, not looking up to meet BB's eyes. BB laughed mockingly. "Figures. I didn't think a prissy little blondie boy like you would be in for any real crime. Me, I killed a guy."

Alex looked up then, and BB laughed even harder. "I only got five years, though, because I'm only sixteen, and it happened during a fight so they thought it was accidental manslaughter. I'll be out in three years."

Alex managed to look impressed. "I reckon he didn't stand a chance," he said, looking over BB's muscular frame. "That's right," BB confirmed smugly. "Anyone gets on my wrong side, they don't stand a chance. Get that, blondie boy?"

Alex nodded. He had already identified BB's type, and in a normal situation, he would have taught the older teen a lesson there and then. But he wouldn't risk his cover – he needed to become friends with this boy.

"So what's in like in here?" Alex asked.

"S'alright, as long as you don't mess with people." BB left it at that, and Alex didn't push. He knew he wasn't the kind of person BB would normally hang out with at Eldemere. That meant he really needed to impress BB to be accepted.

The next few days were a learning curve for Alex. The boys had a lot of spare time. They convened only for meals, and were split into smaller age-appropriate groups for lessons every morning. Afternoons were free – they could use the sports fields or play board games inside. There was also a library and a computer room. Although access to all but educational websites was blocked on the computers, Alex was relieved that he would at least be able to send Jack some e-mails to let her know he was okay.

Slowly, Alex became familiar with the daily routine of the prison. He also started making sense of the various gangs. BB's gang had strength in numbers and commanded a lot of respect, but it was another boy's gang that ran the show at Eldemere. Alex knew him only as Frank, a tall young man with short cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Frank was one the oldest inmates. He had been in prison for over four years, since he was fifteen. He was going to be transferred to an adult prison at eighteen, but his psychiatrist managed to cancel the order. Frank was a sociopath with a narcissistic personality. In the company of younger men, he was a king. In an adult prison he wouldn't have lasted a week. So it seemed Frank was stuck at Eldemere for the foreseeable future, both for his own protection and for the safety of his fellow inmates.

Everyone avoided Frank's gang, even BB and his otherwise over-confident minions – it was well known that messing with Frank would only get you beaten to a pulp. The guards looked the other way, figuring the boys needed to sort out their own problems, so long as nobody got killed.

"Does no one ever take him on, then?" Alex asked BB one evening.

BB gave him an angry look. It was clearly a point of contention. "Only stupid people start something with Frank. Of course, I could easily deck him," BB boasted. Alex nodded, pretending to agree with his roommate, and BB relaxed a little. "He doesn't mess with me so I leave him alone," BB concluded.

It didn't sound to convincing, but Alex played along and looked impressed. "That's really good of you," he fawned. Alex needed BB to think he was in awe. He knew BB was already warming to him, after a few days of open adulation …

Alex enjoyed the lessons; he had missed so much of his school year that his education level was about appropriate for a young delinquent. The lessons gave him a good opportunity to catch up, and his enthusiasm endeared him to the teachers, who appreciated having enthusiastic students. Alex also started making friends with some of the other younger inmates. Most of them were serving very short terms of one or two months, generally for repeated vandalism or violation of their anti-social behaviour orders. They weren't dangerous boys, just a bit lost.

One lad in particular latched onto Alex – a small dark haired boy named Reese. He had been sentenced to three months at Eldemere for repeated incidences of fighting at school, culminating in an attack on a teacher. Reese had no father that he knew of, and his mother was incapable of keeping him under control. He was fairly quiet-spoken and mostly kept to his own. Until, one day during the evening meal, Reese tripped over and stumbled into Frank, sending the older boy's dinner tray crashing to the floor. Splatters of food covered Frank's trousers and dirtied his trainers.

Reese held his breath for a moment, then started stuttering, "I'm s-sorry, I did-n-n't me-ean t-to …"

But it was hopeless. Frank's fist caught Reese right on the nose, breaking it with an audible crack and sending a spray of blood drops into the air. Reese backed away, clearly unwilling to pick up this fight, but Frank lashed out again, this time hitting Reese in the side of the head and sending him crashing to the floor. Frank drew his leg back for a kick, but Alex had seen enough. He threw himself at Frank, knocking his opponent clean off his feet. Without finesse, Alex punched at Frank, pounding his face as hard as he could, not stopping until he was dragged off his victim.

"For flip's sake Riede, what you playing at?" BB snapped, looking fearfully down at Frank's beaten face. Frank was already getting up, and his expression was murderous.

Alex wrenched away from BB. "He just attacked a friend for mine for no reason whatsoever," he replied, glaring down at Frank. Alex's fists were still tightly clenched and he was balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to counter any attack.

"Get out of the fecking way, Bertie," Frank snarled, glaring at both BB and Alex.

"He's my roommate, man; he's new. He dunno what he's doing yet," BB pleaded, and for the first time Alex realised the older teen was scared of Frank. Terrified.

"You know the golden rule," Frank spat, "your cellie, your responsibility. Now get out of my goddamn way, or it's you I'll be having beef with."

Reluctantly, BB stepped away from Alex. But Alex didn't wait for Frank to attack – he went straight on the offensive, raining a rapid sequence of unexpected blows on Frank and making the older boy back up. The retreat put Frank off balance, and Alex took advantage of his better position and kicked Frank in the gut - one sharp, swift kick that winded his opponent and left him gasping for air on the floor.

"You're on your own, mate," BB hissed, distancing himself from Alex as if to disclaim all responsibility of his roommate's actions.

But it was too late.

Wheezing, Frank dragged himself to his feet. He glared at BB before looking towards the guards, who were surveying the fight with interest. "You've had it, Bertie. You'd bloody well had it." With those words, Frank limped to a table. His friends immediately congregated around him to look at his beaten up face. Not phased at all, Frank jutted his chin toward Alex and smirked. Then he drew one finger across his throat, before turning to his friends.

"Are you stupid or something?" BB shouted once the rooms had been locked for the night. "What were you thinking? Do you know who that guy is?"

"He was beating on my friend," Alex said stubbornly.

BB sighed. "Frank and me, we leave each other alone, ok. But you're my roommate. That makes you my problem, and now Frank is going to want my blood for not being able to keep you in line."

"But it's got nothing to do with you" Alex protested, pretending to be outraged by BB's words. Inside, however, he was feeling jubilant – finally, something had happened to draw his and BB's paths closer together. "I'll tell him it's got nothing to do with you."

"Tell him?" BB scoffed. "What, walk up to him and just _tell_ him? You really _are_ stupid, Riede. "Though I guess you're not as prissy as you look."

"I can look after myself. That bastard had better leave me _– us –_ alone."

BB snorted, but didn't contradict Alex's confident declaration. "You're insane. Don't expect me to look after you, ok?" But he didn't sound too menacing. If anything, BB seemed quietly pleased at the discovery of Alex's fighting ability …

That night, Alex fell asleep with a small smile tugging at his lips. It had taken a few days, but he had finally made proper contact with his target. It was a good start, and Alex was starting to feel very optimistic about his mission. For once, it looked like he was unlikely to be in any serious danger. For the first night in many weeks, Alex slept well.

**== o == o == o ==**

_To be continued …_


	7. Back to Work

**Sorry for the looong delay since the last chapter – I've torn a ligament in my knee, and haven't really been able to concentrate on anything. Hopefully updates should be a bit more regular again. Thanks for reading!**

**== o == o == o ==**

**== BACK TO WORK ==**

**== o == o == o ==**

Yassen Gregorovich sat tight in his Brighton hotel after his escape. He had a new identity and enough money in cash to tide him over, but he did not want to risk going out onto the street and potentially being seen by a policeman or caught on CCTV. He knew all too well that the UK had the most extensive CCTV network of any country in the world … and he also knew MI6 agents would be scouring the nation for him, both physically and digitally.

He also had another good reason to sit tight, however; name, Scorpia had not instructed him to do anything else. Scorpia did not tolerate failure, and while Yassen's near death and capture by MI6 did not constitute a failure as such – after all, it was a client of Scorpia who had shot him – it was also certainly no success. Scorpia would expect a proper debriefing. They would expect Yassen to be available to them at all times.

Alone in his hotel room, Yassen allowed himself to think of the mess he had got into. It all came down to Alex Rider – over and over, their paths crossed in unpredictable ways. There was no way Yassen could ever have hurt Alex. In the end, he had even been willing to die for Alex.

Yassen sighed. Alex was too much like his father.

MI6 had been so proud of John Rider – their star operative, the first successful infiltrator of Scorpia! And then MI6 called their agent back to London, supposedly to retire him from the Scorpia mission. Yassen remembered saying goodbye, thinking then that John would become the first Scorpia double agent inside MI6, not realising that John's death warrant had already been signed, that his defection to Scorpia had been found out …

Yassen rubbed his eyes. These were not pleasant memories. He remembered with a fresh wave of pain the shock at being told of John's death on Arthur's Bridge, the numbing pain at the loss of his mentor, friend, lover. And then the overwhelming pride and affection that had flooded him when he first saw Alex. The intensity of his own feelings had taken Yassen by surprise. He wasn't used to such emotions, but he accepted them, and accepted Alex.

_For John._

Yassen sighed again. Despite their wonderful shared moment in Air Force One, he would not go looking for Alex. Alex was too young to understand the politics of spying. He held childish ideals of right and wrong.

Their paths would cross again, and when they did, Yassen hoped that Alex would be mature enough to understand his father's decisions. Hopefully he would understand … unlike Ian Rider. A true patriot, Ian was. Yassen was not sorry to have been the one to kill him.

A few days later, the monotony of the hotel room was finally broken. The envelope was hand delivered, but the messenger left as quickly as he had appeared. The envelope contained only a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. But no other information was needed. It took Yassen less than ten minutes to collect his meagre belongings, and then he was finally on his way. After using his new credit card to pay for his room, Yassen hailed a taxi on the street. He handed the scribbled address to the driver.

"You taking the piss, mate?" the taxi driver turned around to ask.

"What do you mean?" Yassen wanted to know. He looked past the taxi driver and observed his own reflection in the rear view mirror. His face help no expression, his eyes were cold.

"That's a Croydon address. You want to call a minicab. It's going to cost you a fortune on the meter. We don't normally go that far without a booking."

Wordlessly, Yassen reached into his bag and pulled out a wad of £20 notes. "Will this be enough?" he asked coldly.

The driver shrugged. "It's your call, mate." He put the car in gear.

It took them just under an hour to reach the address. The Satellite Navigation system directed the taxi to a block of custom built flats on an industrial estate in East Croydon. The area looked mostly deserted, and the streets had clearly not been cleaned for a long time.

"You sure about this, mate?" the taxi driver checked, looking around the dark estate.

Yassen did not reply. He handed the fare to the driver and walked into the darkness without so much as a goodbye. He waited until the car's lights had disappeared into the distance before approaching the building.

**== o == o == o ==**

Yassen had been under surveillance from the very second he had stepped out of the taxi. This time it was not MI6 that was watching his every move however, but Scorpia. Zeljan Kurst observed Yassen Gregorovich's approach. "Buzz him in, bring him to me," he snapped when the assassin finally reached the building.

Several minutes later, Kurst and Yassen sat opposite each other in a soundproof room. "It's good to see you, Gregorovich," Kurst said, "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"It's good to see you too, sir. I am very grateful for all you have done for me." Yassen nodded toward the bag in his hand – it contained his new identify.

Kurst's lips twitched in a small smile. "You have been loyal to us for a long time, Gregorovich. Scorpia always rewards loyalty."

"I live only to serve Scorpia."

"Of course you do. That is why Damian Cray's betrayal was unforgiveable. Never have we seen a client turn on one of our agents before. We should never have accepted his assignment."

Yassen looked down respectfully. "Damian Cray was an emotional man. His behaviour could not have been predicted."

"Nor could Alex Rider's involvement."

Yassen looked up sharply and held Kurst's gaze steadily. "No. That also could not have been predicted." He felt ashamed at his own transparency. "Please forgive me for sending the boy to you. I am sorry he did not turn out to be as good as his father."

Kurst continued to hold Yassen's gaze. The smile had returned to his lips. "He is pretty good," he admitted. "Unfortunately he is not yet ready to join our organisation. But that is not what I called you here to discuss. Rather, I am going to brief you on a new mission. Scorpia has been asked to take charge of a security operation in Yorkshire. I would like you to lead this operation. It should take two weeks at the most, and then we will be flying you back to Malagosto where you will teach some of our newest recruits. Unfortunately we have lost some of our best agents recently. Replacing them is a top priority."

Yassen relaxed as Kurst continued speaking. He had not wanted to continue the discussion about Alex Rider. He could not trust his own opinion on the subject.

The security operation sounded fairly straightforward. Yassen would be in charge of organising the arrival and transfer of weapons from Columbia to a warehouse in Yorkshire. The warehouse belonged to Eric Bastillo, a high profile arms dealer who had frequently employed Scorpia for similar jobs. Yassen would be in charge of warehouse security while the weapons were assembled and modified, ready to be shipped out into the Middle East.

Yassen was grateful for such a straightforward mission to return him to active service. At least he wasn't likely to run into Alex Rider in Yorkshire!

**== o == o == o ==**

_To be continued …_


End file.
